


Nor Iron Bars a Cage

by PrairieDawn



Series: I'm a Doctor, not a Deity [4]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Ableism, Assistive Devices, Disco Compliant Pike, Episode: s01e12 The Conscience of the King, Episode: s01e15-16 The Menagerie, M/M, Medical Jargon, Multi, Not a Cure Fic, Pre-Poly, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29519925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrairieDawn/pseuds/PrairieDawn
Summary: Spock has been expecting the news of Pike's injury since his former captain left the Enterprise, but McCoy's transformation at the galactic barrier renders his original plans impossible while presenting other opportunities to help him recover from his injury.The trouble is, he and Pike still have feelings for each other despite Spock being involved with Captain Kirk.Meanwhile two other crewmembers begin to develop feelings for each other.
Relationships: Christopher Pike/Spock, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Christopher Pike & Spock, James T. Kirk & Spock, James T. Kirk/Spock, Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Montgomery "Scotty" Scott
Series: I'm a Doctor, not a Deity [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/878484
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14
Collections: Star Trek Valentine's Bang 2021





	1. "It's the least we can do."

**Author's Note:**

> George___Henry's impressive artwork graces this piece.
> 
> Thanks to Andrandiriel for beta-ing and encouragement.

Spock paused outside Dr. McCoy’s office, unsure whether it was a good time to interrupt his work. He had not yet decided whether to announce his presence when the doctor said, “Well, you coming in or not?” in his characteristically irritable tone.

There was no sense in delaying further under the circumstances. He entered the office, allowed the door to slide shut behind him, and squared his shoulders.

McCoy was seated at his desk, leaning back in the chair well beyond what was safe and slightly beyond what was physically possible. His feet were crossed on the desk, and a datapad was in his hands. He looked up. “What’s got you all riled up, Spock?” he asked.

“I am not riled up, Doctor.”

McCoy righted himself in the chair to center his focus on Spock. The attention was disconcerting, even though the doctor was making an effort to contain his prodigious telepathic abilities for Spock’s comfort. His eyes still glowed electric blue, despite his effort to damp the energy that caused them to do so. “The hell you’re not,” he challenged, but his tone was softened with concern.

Spock allowed his own posture to relax slightly in acknowledgment. “I wish to request your assistance on a matter of great personal significance to me.”

“Quit beating around the bush, Spock.”

Spock nodded. “The former captain of the Enterprise--my former captain, suffered a catastrophic accident eighteen days ago.”

“Go on.”

“He was exposed to a near-lethal dose of delta rays while rescuing a group of cadets and remains in a locked-in state.”

Spock could feel the doctor’s sympathy for Pike’s plight acutely. “Delta rays. That’s--I’m sorry to hear that, Spock. What did you have in mind?”

He found he required a centering breath before he could continue. “I owe Captain Pike my life many times over. I cannot repay him myself, but if you were willing to see him aboard the Enterprise, perhaps you could provide some aid, some respite for him in his condition.” There had been another option he had considered, one that would have cost him his career and possibly his life, but McCoy’s newly acquired abilities both closed that avenue and opened a more modest solution that had the advantage of keeping Pike out of the hands of aliens they both deeply distrusted.

“Have you spoken to the Captain and Luna about getting him aboard?” McCoy asked, his tone more administrative than adversarial.

Spock had spent considerable time in meditation wrestling with the multiple moral hazards associated with his request. On the one hand, there was the ever present worry that McCoy might tire of operating within the rules of Starfleet or even of humanoid morality. On the other, there was the temptation to ask too much, to use him as a tool rather than a colleague.

“I wanted to be certain that you would agree to assist. I did not wish to presume,” Spock told him.

“Spock," McCoy interrupted,"He’s your friend. That’s enough for me. I can’t promise I can get it approved upstairs, but you talk to Luna and Jim and I’ll put together a proposal. We’ve got a better chance if I can argue applicability to other patients with catastrophic neurological damage who won’t have direct access to yours truly.”

“I leave you to your work, then, Doctor.” He should not have doubted the doctor’s compassion had survived his transformation unchanged.

McCoy nodded. “Keep me posted.”

*

It took Leonard only a minute to scan the entry on delta ray injuries in his Phlox manual. Delta rays attacked rapidly dividing tissues like skin and mucous membranes, destroying the stem cells that allowed standard regeneration to be effective. In addition, they caused demyelination in both the peripheral and central nervous system. Patients' damaged lungs and digestive systems required bypass and replacement with external life support, they retained little to no normal senses of touch, taste, smell, or vision. In addition, most delta ray survivors suffered intractable neurogenic pain and disorders of motor planning and volition that interfered with their ability to use assistive devices.

If one were to intentionally design a fate worse than death, delta ray injuries would fit the bill. He pulled up his copy of the Healer’s textbooks and manuals Lakehead had managed to obtain from Vulcan. They might have insights he could put to use, though he trusted Spock’s training more than his own improvisation for anything that involved rewiring the brain.

He needed to know where Pike was being treated, what had already been tried, and his overall condition before he could go any further. He fired off a message to Phil Boyce; the man ought to know what had happened to his former captain. 

Chapel wanted something. He was pushing back from his chair before she hit the comm. "I'll be right out," he told her. "Have Luna sit tight."

"I hate when you do that, Doctor," she groused, but she had a wry smile waiting for him when he emerged from his office. "Commander Luna was sparring with Giotto and took a tumble. Hyperextended the thumb."

Commander Luna might have been able to wriggle her way into the First Officer's position, but he'd be damned if that meant he was going to be pleasant to the woman. He had no patience for spies. "Let's see it," he told her, pulling out his scanner and holding out his hand without looking her in the face.

"You don't need that thing, do you?" she challenged.

"As a matter of fact, I do, unless I want to get out my colored pencils and draw a picture of an overstretched tendon for my records.”

She grudgingly held out her hand. He manipulated the thumb carefully. "Ow!" she complained. You did that on purpose."

"Now, you don't even believe that. Nothing's broken or dislocated, but that tendon's going to be sore for a bit. I'm going to order ten minutes of tissue regen and you'll need to brace it in a neutral position until tomorrow morning. Stay put."

He left Luna sitting on the biobed and found Christine, hooked her elbow to draw her out of earshot. "I don't have enough evidence to make a note of it, but that's an intentional injury. She must think she's going to get something out of me as a patient she can't get in my daily debriefings."

"I'll handle it," she assured him, her smile turning icy.

"Thanks, Christine. She needs ten minutes regen and a brace fitted for the left hand."

His head nurse nodded briskly. "Will do, Doctor. I bet the boys up on the bridge could use some of your special brand of sunshine. Why don't you head on out for a bit? I'll mind the store."

"Don't mind if I do." He tipped an imaginary hat to her and saw himself out.

*

Despite Spock having been demoted to Second Officer with the arrival of Commander Luna, he and Jim still managed to take most of their shifts together. Luna had the con for Alpha shift with Sulu and he and Spock took Beta so she could haunt the bridge like the spook she was if anything interesting seemed likely to happen.

The turbolift doors wheezed open. Leonard strode onto the bridge, perched on a part of the console that didn't have any ship-shattering buttons on it, and watched Spock and Jim canoodle with their eyes.

"To what do we owe the honor of your presence?" Jim asked, striding over cheerfully.

"Thought I'd borrow you for a tick."

"I had a physical four weeks ago," he complained.

"Just come on," Leonard told him. He glanced pointedly at Spock. "We need to talk. I promise you can keep all your clothes on."

"You're no fun at all."

"Yeah, yeah, save it for your husband."

Jim followed him into the turbolift. As soon as it started moving, Jim turned to him. "All right, now what is this all about?"

"First, I need to know, has Spock talked to you about his former captain yet?"

Jim nodded grimly. "I can't imagine."

"Getting him up here is real important to Spock. Important enough I don't want to discuss it with both of you together because I know you won't want to hurt whatever it is he uses for feelings."

"Not fair, Bones, and you know it," Jim said in Spock's defense.

Leonard raked his fingers through his hair. "No, no, you're right. Force of habit. Anyway. Pike. Here. On his old ship. That gonna trip any jealousy wires for you?"

"According to Spock, the man's just this side of a persistent vegetative state. Doesn't seem like much of a threat to my command."

"I’m glad you feel that way. Pike is almost certainly fully aware of himself and in no small amount of pain. I haven't gotten ahold of his chart yet, and I'll have to have his permission to discuss any details once I do, but delta rays do a number on every body system and leave the patient alive to suffer." Putting it that way, Leonard realized how much the situation reminded him of his father’s final weeks and hoped he wouldn't be too compromised to be of any use to the man.

Jim winced. "Bones, if my decision could give him a chance at a happier life or condemn him to whatever hell he's existing in now, do you think I could ever say no?"

"No, I don't. But I just want you to know it's not going to be easy for Spock having him here. He's not going to be the man he was, and I think Spock may have an excessively optimistic idea of what I can do for him."

"We'll be okay, Bones."

Leonard's datapad chimed. He glanced down at it. "That’ll be Boyce. Talk to Luna about this today. It should come from you, not from me or Spock."

The face Jim made would have been funny if its cause weren't so serious. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "That woman gives me a headache."

"Price of keeping my sorry ass aboard. Tell her--tell her the challenge will keep me out of trouble."

*

Leonard spent the next several days while they were en route to Starbase Eleven putting together a private room for Captain Pike with a biobed, space for the support chair and enough medical equipment to turn the room into a miniature sickbay. Boyce's report was not encouraging. Pike was blinded, mildly hearing impaired, and had damage to the parts of the brain that initiated movement. Boyce also reported that he was profoundly depressed and lacked the motivation to learn to use any but the very simplest of communication aids. The first hurdle they would have to overcome would be convincing him that he could have a life worth the work he would have to put in to get there.

Scotty installed everything himself, even though he could have sent an ensign to do the work for him. "I served with Captain Pike for as long as Spock did. It's the least I can do."

"Were they close?"

"Who? Pike and Spock? Och, aye. Close as Spock is to Jim."

"You mean before they were married." McCoy clarified.

Scott took a sudden interest in polishing the screens at the head of the biobed. "Not my story to tell, Len, and don't you go on any fishing expeditions or I won't share the surprise I picked up while we were on Earth."

"What kind of man do you take me for?" Leonard protested.

"Genie without a lamp."

"Ship's my lamp."

"Does that make me Aladdin then?"

The comm chimed, saving him from any awkward jokes about rubbing things. "McCoy," he said.

"We've arrived at Starbase Eleven."

"I'll meet you in the transporter room. McCoy out." Pike's quarters were directly across from Leonard’s own rather than in sickbay proper. Leonard would be able to keep an eye on him, but also have him in an environment that encouraged him to think of himself as more than just a patient. At least, that was the hope.

He spent the couple minutes walk to the transporter room trying to quiet his racing thoughts, with partial success. Jim and Spock were already in the transporter room, Jim loudly projecting nervous discomfort, while Spock radiated a more urgent distress. Leonard took his place beside him and, against his better judgment, allowed himself to be ripped into teeny tiny pieces--separated body from soul then reassembled and jammed back together--and that was being charitable about the process.

At least Starbase Eleven was on a planet. They were met by a doctor a few years Leonard's junior who stared openly at Leonard's glowing eyes but decided not to ask any awkward questions. "I'm Doctor Weigel, a specialist in rehabilitation from radiation injuries. You must be Dr. McCoy, Commander Spock, and Captain Kirk."

She led them inside but stopped at the door to a small conference room. "We'll talk in here."

The three of them followed her in and took seats at the table. She followed, the tension in her posture telegraphing that all was not well even if he hadn't been able to take her emotional temperature directly. She got straight to the point. "He doesn't want to see you."

Spock tensed so hard beside him Leonard worried the Vulcan might shatter. Jim rested a hand on his knee under the table. "Why?" Spock asked.

"He can't say, I'm afraid. We had to pose the question several times before we got any answer at all." She sighed. "As his primary care provider I can override his wishes in this matter, especially given his next of kin agrees with me. I am aware you served with him for several years, Mr. Spock. How do the two of you know him?"

Jim smiled winningly. "We first met many years ago. I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss the details. I've run into him a few times since."

"I've never had the pleasure," Leonard added.

"You need to be prepared, then. Captain Pike's attempts at communication have been extremely inconsistent. His neurotransmitter levels indicate profound depression, which may explain in part his lack of response, given that his neuroscans indicate he is more aware than his minimal responses indicate. Physically, he's in rough shape. What you'll be able to see of him is severely disfigured. Unrecognizable."

"It will not be necessary for me to recognize him by his face," Spock said quietly. 

Weigel continued, "So, from what I've been told, you three want to transfer him to the Enterprise for some experimental and highly classified treatment. I've been told it's need-to-know, and I'm telling you that since he cannot meaningfully consent for himself, I need to know."

"Captain?" Leonard asked.

"I have to get authorization from higher up, and we'll need a secure setting."

Leonard leaned back in his chair. "I say we just bring her in with us when we meet with Pike. I can handle a fourth."

"That solves security."

Leonard pulled up his tab and shot off a quick message to Luna, preferring not to talk with her directly. **Pike's PCP needs full disclosure to proceed.** While he waited for a response, he told Dr. Weigel, "I've been doing some research in neuroregeneration that I hope to publish in the next year or two. It hasn't been tested on human patients yet. We'd like Captain Pike to be the first." All of that was vague enough to be true.

Weigel toyed restlessly with her stylus. "Ordinarily I wouldn't even consider a proposal that risky, especially with as few details as you're disclosing, but Captain Pike’s prognosis is extremely poor at present. I'll warn you, I'm not saying yes, and I'm not even promising a yes if you get me cleared to see the details." She frowned at him. "I'm sure this is rude, but what is up with your eyes?"

"It is rude. And I was exposed to some unique radiation while on a mission. My brain glows." The spark of interest from Dr. Weigel reminded him he should not have phrased it quite that way to a doctor specializing in radiation injuries.

"That's quite an accident. Have you suffered any other consequences?"

Leonard's datapad chirped. He looked down at it, tapped his acknowledgment of Luna's response, and said. "You could say that." He turned back to Jim. "Captain, we're cleared to brief Dr. Weigel."

"Right. It will be easier if we only have to explain once. Dr. Weigel, can you take us to him?" Jim asked.

"Right this way."

*

Spock grounded himself on the faintly echoing sound of their boots on the shiny tile hallway of the Starbase's medical wing. He needed to see Pike, even knowing his condition, even having known this would be his fate for many years. He'd seen it in Pike's dreams, and he'd known it was why Pike had willingly given Enterprise, and Spock, to Jim Kirk, mistakenly believing that leaving would lessen the blow for Spock when fate finally caught up with him.

Jim's steadying hand on his arm felt like a betrayal.

Weigel held up a hand when they reached Pike's room. "I'll go in first."

Spock waited, flanked by Jim's support on the one side and McCoy's on the other. The doctor was already unraveling his shields, letting Spock borrow his equanimity and reaching out to reassure Jim. After a moment, Weigel said, "You can all come in now."

McCoy led the way, taking a seat at the nurse’s station near the door. Spock followed, fighting hard for control. Pike sat in a bulky life support chair facing the window. Only the back of his head was visible, a scarred and mostly hairless dome. He detected a change in McCoy's breathing, the in and out breaths becoming artificially even, as though he was counting them.

"Captain Pike, Commander Spock and his friends are here to see you," Weigel said. The chair beeped twice. "It's one tone for yes, two for no. So far that's all he's willing to do."

"Captain," Spock said, his voice rough in his ears. "Christopher. I have come a long way to see you."

The chair slowly turned. Christopher's scarred, sightless face presented itself. The chair beeped twice again.

"I know you did not wish for me to see you this way, but I have seen you thus many times in your mind and in my dreams. I cannot forget it." He paused, wanting to say more, but unable to do so while Jim stood beside them. _I cannot forget you._ "I wish to explain my purpose in coming." He moved away from Jim, who let him go and propped himself on the edge of the door to keep watch.

He didn't want to tower over his captain, so he pulled up the remaining seat in the room to sit beside Christopher's support chair. "May I have your thoughts, Christopher?" He cast a warning glance at Weigel, who folded her arms and watched him grimly. The support chair didn't beep. He waited. "Christopher, please."

"It's possible he doesn't understand," Weigel suggested uncomfortably, as the silence stretched on.

"Christopher and I have known each other's minds before. He understands." He waited, expecting two beeps and not knowing what he would do next. Forcing himself on Christopher would be unthinkable, as would leaving him here. Finally, he heard a single beep, and waited for a second that didn't come. He settled his hand on the rough and wrinkled skin and snatched it back, horrified. The radiation had destroyed the sensory receptors in the skin of his face. All of them. There were no psi points to strengthen the contact, and his deeply withdrawn state meant Spock could not forge a full meld without them. He could only sense Christopher’s pain and loneliness without being able to provide any comfort. Christopher truly was locked in his own mind. He sat back, knowing his distress showed on his face and for the moment not caring.

It was McCoy's voice that brought him out of despair. "Spock. You don't have to do this alone."


	2. "I don't need people wasting their time caring about me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pike is brought aboard the Enterprise against his wishes. McCoy confronts Spock about their relationship.

Time was meaningless, or nearly so. Oxygen was introduced into his bloodstream directly, bypassing his destroyed lungs, so there were no breaths to mark the seconds and minutes. He received nutrients the same way, so there were no meal times. His left eye was still slightly sensitive to light, so he could tell day from night, and the life support chair was opened twice a day so his inert body could be cleaned and repadded to prevent bedsores. The nurses changed shift at oh six hundred, twelve hundred, eighteen hundred, and midnight, but their voices were difficult to tell apart, so sometimes he failed to notice the substitution of one for another.

He could hear, but he couldn't concentrate well enough to enjoy music or audio performances. He tended to listen to whatever was provided for him for an hour or two after he woke up, then he'd turn it off in frustration and sit in silence with nothing but his numb and burning body for company.

He had been told without asking, since he couldn't ask, that he would have to wait a year before making a decision about the remainder of his life. When his DNA had been repaired as much as possible and his immune system was patent, his lungs and digestive system could be regrown and replaced. Skin grafts would make him less prone to infection and might provide some sensation, and the physical and occupational therapy would give him a greater ability to communicate. He knew that the fact that he couldn't make himself care enough to learn more than the most rudimentary features of his chair was a symptom of the damage to his nervous system. It didn't matter why he was inside this deep, dark, smooth sided hole, it only mattered that he was down in the hole with no way to escape. His dearest hope was that he'd get an infection the doctors couldn't treat that would take the hard decisions out of all of their hands.

And no, he did not want Spock to see what he had become.

Dr. Weigel had overruled his objections and brought Spock anyway, along with one or two others, if the footsteps were an indication. "Captain Pike, Commander Spock and his friends are here to see you." Friends? Wasn't it enough that Spock had to see him like this?

Spock's voice was raw. "Captain. Christopher. I have come a long way to see you."  _ No _ , he thought desperately. No. He forced himself to calm enough to activate the light on his chair, then heard the two beeps that told him he'd managed it.

Spock didn't leave. "I know you did not wish for me to see you this way, but I have seen you thus many times in your mind and in my dreams. I cannot forget it. I wish to explain my purpose in coming." 

There was a shuffling and the creak of a chair, then Spock's voice was much closer, almost in his ear. "May I have your thoughts, Christopher?" He should have known Spock would make such an offer. He could have a chance to communicate freely, to understand and be understood, and by the one person he wanted most to see again. To know again. He hesitated. If he were to have even such a small part of himself back for a short time, how would he endure when that brief respite was gone?

"Christopher, please." Vulcans didn't say please. It was as illogical as thank you.

"It's possible he doesn't understand," Weigel said. He wondered if she knew he was really there, or if she just pretended.

"Christopher and I have known each other's minds before. He understands," Spock insisted. The part of him that had the energy to care for anything at all still cared about Spock. Refusing him could hurt him more than inviting him to share his pain. He made his mind into the shape the chair recognized and heard the single beep. He heard the ritual words and thought he felt--something. He couldn't remember how to reach back, and the faint sensation, like a coolness ghosting behind his eyes, faded. He would have cried in frustration had he still had the capacity for tears.

An unfamiliar voice cut in, the light drawl identifying it as belonging to someone from the southeast quarter of the old United States. "Spock. You don't have to do this alone."

More shuffling, frustratingly indistinct. Another voice chimed in, and how many people were in his room anyway? That voice said, "We're authorized to brief Weigel, but we have to be on the Enterprise in case of listening devices."

"Oh for Pete's sake," the one with the southern accent said. "Right. Pike's quarters then."

The bright voiced one said, "Kirk here. Five to beam up," and he discovered that his body could be persuaded to perceive dissolution by transporter, if dimly. He savored the experience for the few moments it lasted. For another while, nothing worth noticing happened. His chair was moved through a bright space and into a slightly dimmer space. Down corridors and into a room, perhaps?

Southern Accent said, "My name is Leonard McCoy. I'm CMO on the Enterprise since Boyce retired. I'd like to set up a kind of workspace for us if that's all right? Won't be real, but it ought to look and feel real enough."

He was unaware of any form of VR that could interface with him in his current state. Talos had been between him and Spock, an unspoken secret plan he knew Spock had been nursing since he'd found out about his destiny. They'd argued about it at the end, Spock insisting that it was the only solution while he insisted that he didn't want Spock to risk his life and destroy his career to buy him a comfortable early retirement. Was this Doctor McCoy a Talosian he'd somehow managed to smuggle onto the Enterprise? All he could say was no, and so he did, as many times as he could.

"Spock, what's going on with him?" the "doctor" said. "I know you know, don't give me that look."

"I am not at liberty to discuss it."

"Dammit, Spock, you can't meld with him and I'm not going to stomp all over what little autonomy he has left, so unless I get a 'yes' out of him we are dead in the water."

There was another long silence. "Some years ago, we encountered aliens capable of producing illusions that were almost impossible to distinguish from reality. It may be that he suspects you to be one of them."

"Captain Pike," McCoy said. "I assure you I was born just outside Atlanta, Georgia, I went to med school at Ole Miss, and I was human as you until I got hit by magic lightning a few weeks ago."

He lost the thread of the conversation and had to reconstruct it piece by piece. He was on the Enterprise. This doctor friend of Spock's had some kind of telepathic power on par with Talosians. He couldn't move from those facts to a conclusion.

"Look, Captain Pike," McCoy continued. "I spent a lot of time on this construct and I was looking forward to showing it off. What do you say?"

He'd gotten lost between the question and the answer. One beep.

There was no period of transition. He was looking at a warm maple tabletop, a real wood antique it looked like, with a lacy table runner and a vase of honeysuckle for a centerpiece. Hands rested on the table in front of him, at first blurry, then resolving into his own hands, just like he remembered them. Spock and his new captain sat on one side of the table. A middle-aged man sat across from them in medical blue next to a bewildered looking woman dressed in Starfleet scrubs. The captain spoke first. "Bones, you look like your old self!"

"I liked my old self," the man answered. "Captain Pike, I don't want you to get the wrong idea. None of this is real. It's built from a memory. I can't give you your body back with a snap of my fingers.”

"So this is some sort of telepathic projection?" Dr. Weigel asked.

"Yup," McCoy’s tone grew nostalgic. "It's my Gran's kitchen, the way I remember it being when I was about twelve. I spent a lot of time here. Anyway, we've got work to do. You already know it will be possible to repair some of your body systems over the next year, at least partially. The goal is to try some microrepair techniques I've been working on to improve your motor function in hopes you'll have more control over your body. The sooner we start, the more neuroplasticity we'll have to work with."

He only understood about half of what was said, but it was clear the doctor thought he could treat him. Somehow. It took him a little too long to form thoughts into words, even here. "This end is my destiny. It can't be changed."

"The fact that you saw this injury in your future doesn't mean that this injury is the end of your future, Captain," Spock said, repeating an argument he'd made many times over the years.

McCoy noted, "I'm not gonna lie to you. You're here because Spock asked me to try to help. But this isn't just about you. I'm hoping to be able to develop techniques that are scalable. You're not the only person to survive a catastrophic radiation injury. What we learn from working with you could improve a lot of people's lives."

The offer of a purpose, or even the semblance of a purpose, was a temptation he fought to resist. His time was over. He'd done more in his shortened career than most would ever do, and trying to thwart fate's design for him seemed too great a risk to take. Even sitting here enjoying the feel of illusory wood grain under imagined fingers and sneaking glances at Spock's troubled face was an indulgence he should not have allowed himself, knowing it would end and he would be trapped in a useless body that had not stopped burning since the accident and never would.

"Why couldn't I just die?" he asked them.

"There's no real answer to that question, Captain Pike," McCoy told him.

Spock turned to him with a softness in his expression he had missed acutely. "The question is what will you do now?" Kirk's hand was on Spock's arm, and he squeezed gently when Spock spoke, a gesture of comfort. A bitter part of him thought the kid sure didn't waste any time, but he forced himself to remember that Spock wasn't his anymore and if anyone deserved a chance at happiness, it was Jim Kirk. "Just go. All of you," he said.

Weigel broke in then. "I am turning your care over to Dr. McCoy. I can't order you to cooperate, but I can ask you to give these people a chance. They obviously care about you."

"I don't need people to waste their time caring about me."

"They're going to care about you anyway," McCoy told him. "You need to rest. This takes more out of you than you realize. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." The warm, homey kitchen vanished between blinks, but before the pain could return he found himself pushed into sleep.

*

Weigel had returned to Starbase Eleven, and the Enterprise was already underway to its next mission. McCoy had pulled up his work on the screen in Pike's quarters while the man slept. He wouldn't be able to spend every minute he wasn't in an illusion unconscious, and McCoy couldn't keep him in an artificial environment all of the time. But for now, Pike could have a few hours of rest without pain.

The door chimed.

"Come in, Spock," he said.

Spock's gaze rested on Pike in his chair, looking the same asleep or awake. "Is he--"

"He's asleep, for the moment. I need to observe how the constructed reality affects his brain function. I don't want to damage him further."

"Understood, doctor. How bad is it?"

"I'm not gonna lie to you. It's pretty bad. You understand there's no scenario in which he gets up out of that chair and walks, right?"

"I know. I just want him to be as content--as happy, in human terms--as he can be."

There was another topic he needed to broach, and soon. "When were you going to tell me the two of you were lovers?"

Spock froze. "I--"

"The bond is there. I can see it." Leonard shook his head. "The way you've been acting, I'm pretty sure I could have figured it out regardless. What does Jim think?"

"We have not yet discussed it," Spock admitted.

"Well you damn well better discuss it soon or you'll end up hurting them both."

“I do not believe that can be avoided at this point.” Spock reached out to stroke Pike's gnarled forehead and changed the subject. "What will you do first?"

"Pain management and balancing his neurotransmitters. Then motor planning and execution, so he can access assistive devices more effectively. If we can get him to form his thoughts more clearly, he could be a candidate for a vocoder. Some of that's deep mental work. It would be helpful to have you along. You know him and he trusts you."

"Not enough, evidently," Spock said. McCoy found his gaze drawn to Spock's restless fingers as they traced the scars twisting across Pike's scalp. Spock caught him looking and snatched his hands away to lock them behind his back.

"Pike is mired in the belief that nothing will ever get better. Hell, he's got it into his head that nothing should get better, as though the universe will collapse in on itself if he doesn't maximize his own suffering." Leonard turned off his screen. "Frankly he would have been a lot better off if he hadn't seen it coming. All that knowing in advance has done is set him on this fatalistic spiral it's going to take him a lot of work to get out of."

"He was already on that road when he left the Enterprise."

"I suspected as much. Be that as it may, I want to be ready to start neural pathway repairs this week. I've sent you some reading, and I'd like you to contact T'Pau if you can, see what she can pry out of Gol. And talk to Jim. Today."

Spock appeared to concede his point, though the ambiguous head tilt wasn't exactly a yes. "If you will excuse me, Doctor, I have much to do."

"Go on, I've got work to do, too." Leonard waved the Vulcan out of the room. Of all the people he would have expected to be in the middle of a love triangle, it would not have been Spock. If there was a way this was going to end well, he sure couldn't see it.


	3. "I will not leave you again."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock feels the strain of his relationships, old and new, while Jim visits an old friend and uncovers tragedy long buried.

When Spock returned to the quarters he and Jim currently shared, he found the captain already present and sitting on their bed, brooding while pretending to read. He patted the space beside him, which Spock supposed was a good sign.

"You sleep with all your captains?" Jim said, trying for lightness and failing.

"There have only been two."

Jim tossed his book aside. "You're still in love with him."

It would have been pointless and cruel to lie. "Yes."

"What happened?"

"Many years ago, Christopher was given a credible prophecy that he would be critically injured in just this way at some point in his future. The circumstances were sufficiently specific that he could have avoided the event if he had been willing to allow the cadets he rescued to die, and he had made the decision long in advance that he was unwilling to sacrifice them to preserve his own future."

"A prophecy?" Jim said, his voice incredulous.

"Jim, understand that the events surrounding the prophecy are highly classified and I cannot discuss them. We analyzed the vision Christopher was given and were able to estimate when it would be fulfilled to the nearest year. He gave up the Enterprise and took a promotion to Fleet Captain. I refused the captaincy of the Enterprise when it was offered and attempted to be reassigned with him, but he blocked my efforts. He pushed me away intentionally in a misguided effort to spare me pain."

Jim tilted his body so his head rested on Spock's shoulder. "I'm a selfish man, Spock. I don't want to lose you."

"My relationship with Christopher--with Captain Pike--is part of my past. You are my present and future," Spock assured him.

"That's not true and you know it. Besides," and here Jim blew out a long sigh. "I owe Christopher Pike my life. I won't deny him what little happiness he can have now."

"The issue is moot. He has chosen to deny that chance for happiness himself." He pulled Jim closer, drawing a two fingered kiss across his forehead and down his cheek, ending with a light tap to his lips. Jim didn't even try to capture his fingers with his mouth as was his habit, but he did curl in closer and close his eyes as though he could avoid truths he did not want to face by escaping into sleep.

There were matters that remained to be discussed, however. "Dr. McCoy would like me to aid him in reconstructing Captain Pike's neural pathways."

Jim stirred himself. "That's good news. The sooner the better. I meant to tell you, an old friend of mine has been working on a new way to produce emergency rations from low quality feedstocks. He's had a breakthrough and we're headed to check it out."

"When will we arrive?"

"Tomorrow. You'll like Thomas. He can get absolutely wrapped up in a scientific problem for months, years even. Kind of like you."

"I look forward to it." Jim's distress had not abated. It curled over him, chilly with fear and poisonous with self-doubt. "You think that our bond can be broken. That I could choose him and reject you."

Jim pulled away from him, physically and mentally. "It's inevitable. And it's the right thing to do. He needs you more."

"Perhaps." He allowed himself to sigh. "But I need you." He turned to face the man he'd promised himself to, publicly and permanently, mere weeks ago. "My commitment to you stands."

*

He had expected meeting with Christopher to grow easier over time. The truth was quite the opposite.

Under the pain and despair, inside the helpless body kept alive by the support chair, the silvery brightness that was Christopher Pike, joined to Spock by a thread that had never been severed no matter the distance between them, remained. Spock stood still, just inside the room, wondering if Christopher could sense his presence. McCoy had set up a small workstation for himself in his quarters and was reading when Spock entered. Without looking up, he asked, "You talk out your situation with Jim?"

"To an extent. It is a predicament."

"I'll patch you in when you're ready. I will be able to tell what you're up to, no help for it, but everything that happens between you two will be confidential."

"Understood, Doctor."

"Have a seat on the couch, Spock."

Spock complied. McCoy tapped his shield as a matter of courtesy, both of them fully aware McCoy could bypass it at will. Spock sent his assent, and Christopher suddenly was sitting beside him on the standard issue grayish violet couch beside the biobed as though he had always been there. Nothing else in the room changed. McCoy was still sitting at the desk, apparently engrossed in his reading, a reminder that while they were being given space, they couldn't really be alone here. Even the support chair was still there, propped in a corner, empty. "A seamless replica, Doctor," Spock noted with a little surprise.

McCoy looked up. "I want him to know that what's around him is real, even if he’s perceiving it indirectly."

Spock moved closer to Christopher. "I should not have allowed you to leave me behind," he said.

Christopher didn't look at him. His hand trembled where it rested on his knee. The hand rose, moved over, and settled on Spock's leg. Spock covered the hand with his own. "You have Jim," he said, slowly, one word at a time. "Take care of him."

Spock almost protested, but he caught something protective in Christopher's concept of Jim, something that came from more than just his relationship to Spock. "I intend to. How do you know him?"

Christopher shook his head slightly. "His story to tell." He looked down at their joined hands. "This isn't really me."

"It is your mind."

"This is a dream."

McCoy got up from his desk to prop himself on the biobed. "It's a dream with a purpose. When you move here, you retrain your motor cortex, make it more likely you’ll be able to operate implants and prosthetics. When you speak and listen here, you improve your ability to think and pay attention."

"I can't live in your head forever."

"No, you can't. But a simple frame of reference like this isn't particularly taxing for me. I can keep it up in my sleep. As your brain and body heal, you'll spend more time using conventional devices, but I'd like us at least to get the neuralgia sorted before you spend extended periods of time without a filter between you and your sensory experiences. Remember, it's been less than a month since your injury. It will get better."

"What if I don't want it to?" he said. His head turned so he looked at Spock. "I'm dead already."

Spock squeezed the hand on his knee more tightly. The doctor's presence made it impossible for him to say what he needed to say, to do what he so badly wanted to do. It had been almost a year since he'd sat beside Christopher like this, their last night before he left for Earth and Jim arrived to replace him as captain. He could understand why Jim worried that he was merely a bandage for the hole Chris's absence had left in Spock's soul. "I will not leave you again."

"Too late now. "

He leaned close enough to smell Christopher's aftershave. He cast a puzzled glance at McCoy, who pressed his lips tight together, shook his head, and gestured toward Christopher. There would be time to find out how McCoy had managed that later. For now, he pressed his lips to Christopher's illusory temple to feel the warmth and softness there, the faint taste of salt.

Christopher shuddered beside him. Spock pulled him closer, so his head rested against Spock's chest, and ran his fingers through the silvering hair. Christopher sobbed once before returning to silent weeping that lasted until, at last, he fell asleep.

As soon as Spock had arranged Christopher on the couch and stood, the illusion vanished and Pike was once again in the support chair. Spock's shirt was entirely dry.

*

"Unwieldy hunk of junk is what it is," Scott told Leonard. The blueprints for Pike's support chair floated in front of them in three semitransparent dimensions.

"It's not just for moving him around. It breathes for him, feeds him, carries away his waste, exercises his muscles, like a second body around his own. If his immune function improves, and I think it will, we'll start with the skin grafts. That will be four to six weeks in tank regen. You up to building me a tank for Sickbay with the extra shock protection we'll need being an active duty starship?"

"Never said no to a challenge, Len. But why start with his skin and not his lungs?"

"He's got a lot of constriction. The skin won't stretch enough to let him take a breath." As if reminded by the word, Leonard stood to stretch the kinks out of his back and neck, then stopped, suddenly aware of Scott's appreciative eyes on him. "See something you like?"

Scott chuckled. "I'm much too old for ye now. Anyway, how is it you need to stretch with that ideal body you’ve got now?"

"Same reason I still need to eat and sleep, I s'pose."

The com chimed. "Bridge to Engineering," Jim said.

"Engineering here," Scott replied.

"We're in orbit around Signia Minor. Dr Leighton has invited me to a Shakespeare play. I thought I'd go down with Spock during Sulu's shift. Either of you care to come along?"

"Been a long time since I've seen Shakespeare performed. What troupe is it?"

"Anton Karidian's, I hear."

"Not heard of him. They must not record. Anyway, I'll happily take you up on that."

"What about you, Bones?"

"I'll stay here. People won't be able to enjoy the play if they're staring at me. Besides, I don't have the range to keep tabs on Pike from dirtside."

"You just don't want to have to ask Luna to let you go."

"That might have something to do with it," Leonard allowed. "You go and have fun." The comm shut off. 

"He doesn't sound well," Scott noted.

Leonard shrugged. "Don't fish."

*

Leonard ought to be glad that Jim was distracting himself down on the planet with his old friend Tom Leighton, but something about the whole situation didn't sit right with him. He had been smiling when he left for the cocktail party Tom was throwing for the theater troupe, but his act hadn't even fooled Scotty, whose chattiness had vanished the moment Jim had come into the transporter room with every muscle in his body shrieking life and death mission while his face was schooled into its best diplomatic cheer.

He'd been wearing his uniform rather than the civvies that would have been more appropriate--though that could just have been his habit of wearing his rank when he didn't have to, as though if he weren't continuously reminded of his position the ship might vanish out from under him. Come to think of it, Jim's habit of believing that everything good in his life was a mirage had to have come from somewhere. 

The last person he wanted to see strode into his sickbay in a bun so tight he was sure it was going to pull out her eyelashes. "Commander Luna, shouldn't you be on the bridge?"

"Captain's acting awfully skittish. You happen to know anything about it?"

"Now what would make you say something like that?" he challenged.

She smiled unkindly. "Oh come now, Doctor, I know you've got Kirk and Spock all figured out. They can't possibly have any secrets from you. Not now."

He rounded on her, ready to jam his index finger at her smug face, but forced himself to straighten up and look her calmly in the eye instead. "Commander Luna, I resent the implication that I would abuse the trust the captain and commander have placed in me by casually invading their privacy. Even if I am worried about them.”

The comm flashed. "Sickbay, McCoy here," he said.

"Bones. I need you down here. Thomas Leighton is dead."

Bones hit his comm first. "Sickbay to transporter room two. Prepare to beam up a critical patient. I'll beam down and bring him up. Christine, follow with a gurney and crash kit." He pushed past Luna, grabbed his bag, and made for the transporter at a run, not willing to trust a layman's diagnosis of death. Luna's footsteps echoed behind him.

He arrived to find Jim and Thomas outdoors near a decorative outcropping of stones, the former kneeling over the latter. Jim stepped back to give him room. He reached out with his enhanced senses first. No brain activity, no heartbeat, the body already cooling. He'd thought maybe, just maybe he'd be able to claw the man back from the grave, but it had been far too long for him to even try. "I'm sorry, Jim."

"What killed him?"

"I don't know yet. I'll have to do an autopsy."

Jim nodded. "It's so sudden. It doesn't seem fair."

"It doesn't seem natural," Leonard agreed.

"I'm staying here to see what I can find out."

"You be careful. I'll have the results of the autopsy as soon as I can. I'm sure the family will want to have him back before we break orbit."

"I'm always careful." 

Leonard rolled his eyes. "You keep telling yourself that. Go on. I'll take good care of him," he told the captain quietly. Jim nodded and backed away so Leonard could beam up with the body.

The autopsy kept him busy for a couple of hours while he tracked down what had killed the man. There was no gross evidence of trauma or struggle. He appeared to have died of respiratory failure, but there was no immediately obvious reason for it until he found a tiny pinprick, much less visible than the hickeylike pink spot left by a hypospray, indicating that something had been injected. Toxicology confirmed it. Thomas Leighton had been poisoned. 


	4. "How did you know this young lady was coming aboard?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim conspires to bring Karidian's theater troupe aboard the ship, with life-threatening consequences to himself and his crew.

Jim did not return to their quarters until 0400 hours, and in the hour and thirty minutes before he had to ready himself for his shift, he did not sleep, nor did he explain his agitation to Spock. At first, he allowed himself to be held, but the moment Spock had hazarded to ask him about the events down on the planet, he dispensed with any pretense of resting and rolled out of bed to stalk out the door. Following him would have made matters worse, so he had sent a message to Dr. McCoy to keep watch on him.

Spock reached the bridge first in the morning. Jim arrived at 0600 hours precisely, his shadowed eyes covered with foundation and just a little glitter, the persona of the nonchalant charmer put forward, though his inner turmoil sparked darkly underneath. 

"Ready to resume course, Captain," Spock noted.

Jim had the audacity to turn that brilliant, false smile on him. "I think we're due for a pick-up," he said brightly.

"What kind, Captain? Personnel or cargo?"

Jim didn't answer and his smile never wavered.

A moment later Lieutenant Uhura reported, "Captain? A Miss Karidian has been transported aboard ship. She requests permission to see you."

"Tell her to come up to the Bridge, Lieutenant," Jim said merrily as if the statement were a private joke. 

Uhura called down to the transporter room and in a minute or so she arrived on the bridge, trailed by Montgomery Scott, who explained, "I thought the lassie ought to have an escort. Wouldn't want her to get lost."

"How did you know this young lady was coming aboard?" Spock asked.

"I'm the Captain." His tone was dismissive. It was clear to Spock that the discovery of his prior relationship with Christopher had hurt him even more than he had anticipated.

The young woman wiggled her way down to the Captain's chair. Jim stood to meet her. "Captain Kirk, I didn't think we'd be meeting again so soon."

Jim winked. "You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you I arranged it." He took her arm and walked with her past Spock's station. When he passed close, Spock could feel the undercurrent of tension, the precise focus and underlying strain of controlled anger under his flirtatious demeanor.

"No, but it's a delightful thought. Captain, I'm afraid we need your help. We've been stranded. It seems that our transportation has canceled out on us," she told him.

"Can't you make other arrangements?" Jim asked her as though he already knew the answer. Curious.

"Yes, but not in time. You see, our schedule is like a chain. One break and it all collapses." She looked up at him with a coquettish pout.

"It'd be a shame if that happened," Jim agreed.

"If ever we needed a Good Samaritan," she prompted.

"Well," Jim stalled. 

Lenore simpered. "I appeal to you."

"The regulations are very clear about taking on passengers," Kirk argued, teasing.

What was he up to? Did he suspect someone in the troupe of killing his friend Tom Leighton? If that was the case, why hadn't he briefed Spock on his plan?

Lenore continued playing her part. "I'll make a bargain with you, Captain."

"What have you got to trade?" Jim said in a tone laced with innuendo. Spock's control began to crack, watching Jim fawn over her. He squeezed his hands together behind his back hard enough to dig his nails into his palm.

"Special performance for the crew in exchange for a lift," she suggested, leaning into him as though she had a particular special performance in mind for him.

Jim wrapped an arm around her shoulders and began to walk her slowly toward the turbolift. "You make it sound very interesting. The crew has been on patrol for a long time. They could use a break in the monotony."

"Then you'll do it?"

"You've got me backed into a corner. The men would never forgive me if I deprived them of your performance and your presence." Spock was getting the distinct impression that not only was he playing her, she was playing him, and they both knew it. It was an impressive dance to be a party to, despite his anger at not being informed.

"Thank you, Captain. I'm eternally grateful. I'll get the company ready. This means so much to them." Scott retrieved her when they reached the turbolift doors.

When the doors closed, Jim turned back to him."Mister Spock, prepare to leave orbit as soon as the Karidian company is aboard the ship."

He nodded, expecting elaboration of Jim's plan at any moment. "May I inquire as to our course, Captain?"

"Benecia Colony."

"I see. Benecia colony is significantly off our course. Do you have a rationale to provide our superiors?"

"I hope to by the time we reach Benecia. Is there a problem, Mr. Spock?"

Spock winced at the chill in Jim's voice. "No, Captain."

"If I require your counsel, Mister Spock, I'll ask you for it. In the meantime, follow my orders." He turned smartly on his heel and marched back to the captain's chair to perch there, as tense as if he was going into battle.

Spock had lost Jim's confidence when it seemed he was most needed, leaving the man to feel he had to deal with his friend's murder alone. This was a grave failure on Spock's part, one that called into question his suitability as a partner. "Captain," he said.

There was no answer.

"Jim."

"We're fine here. I suggest you visit Captain Pike. I'll call you if I need you."

"As you wish, Jim." He started for the turbolift. It was crucial he discuss the Captain's unusual behavior with McCoy.

When he reached the turbolift, Jim stopped him. "And Spock."

"Yes, Captain?"

"You know Lieutenant Kevin Riley?"

"Yes. He recently transferred to Communications under Lieutenant Uhura."

"Keep a close eye on him."

"Anything in particular I should be aware of?"

"No, no, nothing in particular. Just don't let him go anywhere alone."

"That will be difficult to justify, Captain. How would you like me to explain the increased level of supervision?"

"I don't care, Spock. That's your job. Figure it out."

Strictly speaking, it was not his job any longer, but Commander Luna's, but this was not the time to bring that point to Jim's attention. "Of course, sir."

*

As soon as the turbolift doors closed on him he commed Riley. "Lieutenant Riley, what is your current location?"

"Sir?" Riley said, groggy voiced. "I'm not scheduled until gamma shift."

"Is your roommate present?"

"No sir. He's on Alpha."

"Please be ready to be collected from your quarters in fifteen minutes. I regret the inconvenience."

Riley’s tone sharpened as he woke fully. "Am I in trouble?"

"We will discuss the matter further when you arrive." He hoped the Lieutenant himself would be able to shed some light on his captain's orders. Fifteen minutes would provide the lieutenant time to get into uniform and Spock a few moments to consult with Dr. McCoy, though under the circumstances, he would have to wake him as well and incur his ire. "Computer, connect me to Dr. McCoy," he said.

"Dr. McCoy, there have been additional developments with the captain that require your attention."

There was a long silence, followed by, "I was up until oh four hundred writing up that autopsy. This had better be good." That explained where the captain had been last night.

"The captain has contrived to transport Anton Karidian's theater troupe to Benecia colony on the Enterprise. In addition, he made public romantic overtures to Karidian's teenaged daughter. On the bridge."

"Jealous, are you?"

Yes. "No. I am concerned that the captain may be running some sort of scheme without including us in his plans. Given the circumstances of Dr. Leighton's death, I am concerned that he may be acting with reckless disregard for his own safety."

"You think he's playing private investigator."

"I believe he may have brought the theater troupe aboard because he believes the killer to be among them."

"Which means we may well have a murderer aboard the Enterprise. Terrific." There was a pause accompanied by the rustling of bedclothes. "I'm up."

"I would like to take advantage of your rapid information processing abilities. I need you to search the records for any connection between Jim, Lieutenant Kevin Riley, and Dr. Leighton."

McCoy replied,"I'm on it. Where are you headed?"

"To collect Riley from his quarters. I suspect the captain may believe him to be a target."

"I'll check the records and contact you as soon as I know anything. What do you plan to do with Riley?"

"That will depend on what you find in your research." At the rate he was moving, he would be outside Riley's quarters in three minutes. 

Before he arrived, however, his comlink chirped again. "McCoy here. I've got that information you were looking for. Best we not discuss it over an open channel."

"Understood, Doctor, shall we meet in sickbay?"

His comlink shut off, and there was a tap at his shields. He opened the other communications channel he and the doctor maintained.  _ Get Riley into custody before Karidian is aboard. Bring him to Pike's quarters.  _

_ Understood, Doctor,  _ Spock replied. He paused on his way to RIley’s quarters to collect a sidearm for each of them from a weapons locker en route. When he reached the junior officers' quarters, he received a number of nervous stares. Senior officers rarely frequented this part of the ship. He tapped the door panel to Riley's quarters, noting that only five minutes had passed since he had alerted the Lieutenant. He could hear the sonic running inside the room.

He waited until the sonic's cycle ended before tapping the panel again. Riley shouted from inside, "You're early! I'm getting ready as fast as I can!"

"I am willing to wait," he replied.

"Commander! I didn't realize you were coming for me in person." Fifteen seconds later the door slid open on Riley, who held his shoes and socks in his hands. He pulled them on quickly, ran a comb through his hair, and stood at parade rest for inspection. "Sir."

Spock handed him a sidearm and his eyes went very wide, but he clipped it to his belt. "May I ask what this is about, Commander?"

"There is evidence that your life may be in danger. You are being moved to a secure location."

Riley paled visibly but fell into step with Spock without asking further questions until they reached the turbolift. Once they were in relative privacy, the young man asked, "What's this all about?"

"I was hoping you could tell me. Is there a connection between you, the captain, and Thomas Leighton?"

Riley looked away. "Sir, I--" He swallowed. "That's classified. You'll have to ask the captain."

"The captain has been less than forthcoming about the matter. His orders regarding you were simply that you were not to be left alone at any time, which suggests that he considers you either to be a suspect or a potential victim. Given his demeanor at the time of the order, I was able to surmise that he believes you to be at risk, most likely from the same individual who killed Thomas Leighton."

"Tom's dead?" Riley's tenuous grasp on his composure slipped and he fell back against the turbolift wall. Spock pulled the emergency switch to halt its progress.

"He was poisoned last night."

Riley stared down at the floor, his hands curling into fists. He drew a deep, shaking breath, then broke into sobs, turning into the corner of the turbolift, away from Spock. It had been the wrong time to tell the young man, and the wrong place. There was little he could say or do. He barely knew the Lieutenant, and what impressions he had were largely informed by his impromptu musical performance while they were all infected with an intoxicant. "I grieve with thee," he said, falling back on his own traditions.

Riley didn't speak for another sixty-five seconds, then he pressed his palms to his face to wipe away tears, stood deliberately, and sniffled, "Thank you, Mr. Spock." He straightened his uniform. "I know crying isn't logical."

"The cause is sufficient. I should have inferred that your relationship with him was significant."

"You can start the turbolift now. I'm okay." Riley, clearly, was not okay, but Spock started the turbolift regardless.

Christopher Pike’s quarters were on the senior staff corridor, across from McCoy's and beside Commander Luna's. The presence of the doctor, Mr. Scott, and Luna should provide a more secure environment for the Lieutenant. He tapped the door chime. "Come," Pike's simulated voice said. It was good to hear despite being filtered through McCoy's mind and Pike's memory.

The door slid open. Spock ushered Riley inside. "Is this location sufficiently secure?"

"No one is getting in this room without my say-so," McCoy assured him. "And this conversation is all up here." He tapped his temple for emphasis.

Christopher rested on the couch, looking a little more comfortable than when he'd last seen him. He also sat inert and unfathomable in the support chair. Spock raised an eyebrow. 

"My idea," Christopher said. "I need to see it. Myself. How I am now."

"How you are right now," McCoy corrected. "We haven't even gotten started."

"Doctor," Spock interrupted. "What have you found out?"

"Captain Pike confirmed what I found in the records. Jim Kirk, Tom Leighton, and Kevin Riley are all Tarsus IV survivors. Among nine witnesses who were present at the executions and lived to tell the tale."

"They would have been teenagers, at most," Spock said grimly. "To have witnessed mass murder, regardless of how quick or painless it was."

"It was neither," Christopher said. "I was part of the rescue mission JT and Tommy called. They were just kids, hiding out from adults who had decided they weren't worth keeping alive."

"I was six." Kevin crossed the room to stand beside Christopher's image on the couch. "Captain Pike! Is that really you?"

"No, it's not," Christopher told him. He chucked his chin at the figure in the support chair. "That's really me. Your Doctor McCoy's just been kind enough to make this space for me while we work to get that body up and running again. As much as possible, that is." Spock noted that was the most positive statement he had made about his condition yet and resolved to ensure he spent more time with Kevin Riley.

"So this is all," Riley scratched his head in puzzlement. "All in Dr. McCoy's head?"

"Just Pike. And the conversation we're having right now," McCoy clarified. "What I haven't figured out yet is what it all has to do with Karidian's theater troupe."

Spock considered. "List all known Tarsus witnesses and their whereabouts."

"Working."

"James T. Kirk, Captain, USS Enterprise. Located on USS Enterprise Observation Deck. Lieutenant Kevin Riley. USS Enterprise. Officer's Quarters belonging to Captain Christopher Pike. Thomas Leighton, Formerly of Signia Minor. Deceased. Marta Sawyer, formerly of Calgary, Alberta. Deceased. Daniel Aaronsen, formerly of--"

"Pause." Spock felt a pang of concern. 

"List all persons on the Observation Deck at this time."

"Captain James Kirk."

"I thought he was giving that pretty little actress a tour of the ship," McCoy said. He caught sight of Spock and added, "Oh don't give me that face, you know he's just trying to make you jealous."

"To the contrary, Doctor. Miss Karidian is nineteen years old. The captain's sense of ethics would not permit him to genuinely pursue the young lady. I suspect he is attempting to obtain information."

"That would be like him. Regardless, we need to talk to him. It's too dangerous, him trying to investigate all on his own. Spock, call him up here. Use the link, I don't want anything going out over the comm system."

Spock withdrew, seeking the bond he and the captain had formed shortly after the doctor's accident and had solidified with their marriage mere weeks ago. It was quiet. Not blocked from the captain's end, not gone as it might have been had the captain been killed, but quiet. "Doctor, could you assist? I am having difficulty reaching him."

The doctor threaded his consciousness together with Spock's and sought the captain down the link they shared. "He wouldn't fall asleep on the Observation Deck, no matter how tired he was." McCoy snapped free of their link, grabbed his bag, and shouted on the way out the door, "Stay here, all of you."

Spock followed on his heels. "You too, Spock. I need you to protect Riley and Pike."

Reluctantly, Spock admitted to himself that it was logical for him to stay behind. The doctor could defend himself and Jim as well if it came to that.

*

Leonard took the corridors at a run, wishing he had sufficient control of his abilities to just melt through the decks and seal them up after. Still, he was able to make it to the Observation Deck in less than three minutes. It was almost too long. Jim lay on the floor, his eyes mostly but not entirely closed, his body entirely limp with a bluish tint to the nail beds and lips. 

A faint puff of breath escaped his lips. The marine neurotoxin that killed Thomas Leighton would have produced similar symptoms. Leonard could force air into and out of his lungs mechanically until he could get him to a biobed and do so while carrying him, small favors. He scooped Jim into his arms, letting his telekinesis do most of the work and projecting an illusion of an empty corridor around them both, just in case the murderer was lurking nearby.

Spock was already standing in the entryway when Leonard burst through the door. He passed Jim to the Vulcan. "Put him on the biobed."

Spock complied. "Why did neither of us notice his distress?"

"My guess is he didn't have any. Some of the marine neurotoxins cause an emotional indifference along with paralysis. He probably just drifted off to sleep. Don't open up the bond yet, I want to get his oxygen sats up and check for hypoxic stress first." He pulled a counteragent out of his bag and set the biobed to take over breathing for the captain, then started taking detailed scans.

Riley, Spock, and Pike all hovered near the biobed, getting in his way until he had to snap at them to go sit down already. Spock crept up behind him. "What did I say about crowding me?"

"Doctor. Lieutenant Riley and I completed some additional research while you were gone."

Leonard peered into Jim's dilated pupils. "Out with it."

"Anton Karidian is Kodos the Executioner. I am ninety-nine point two percent certain."

"Kodos the Executioner? Wasn't he found dead?"

"Skeletal remains only. And as there were no existing DNA records on file, there was nothing to compare to."

"What makes you think it's him?"

"Lieutenant Riley and the captain are the only surviving witnesses. All of the others are dead, all in the last three years, and all when Karidian's players were in the area."

That wouldn’t hold up in court. "Circumstantial."

"Riley remembers his face."

"He was six."

"I was able to access and analyze the memory traces. The resemblance is uncanny."

Jim’s oxygen saturation was back over ninety-five now and still rising. "Have you informed Luna yet that the captain is incapacitated?"

"I have just done so. She has dispatched security to detain Karidian and his players and is on her way."

"The more the merrier," Leonard grumbled. "I've got a blood concentration on the neuroparalytic. I'm administering the counteragent in a moment."

"How long will it take?"

"It should take effect within a couple of minutes, but it's ugly, as antidotes go. If you can hold him through the worst of the muscle spasms, he should be out of danger within the half-hour."

Leonard's comlink chimed. "McCoy here."

"Luna. Get to Engineering as fast as you can."

"Commander, the captain is--"

Luna cut him off. "We have a hostage situation and an explosive device down here. Move!"


	5. "If you don't mind, I'll hold you to that."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lenore makes a desperate attempt to ride her father of the ghosts of his past. Jim and Pike make peace with each other. McCoy and Scotty drink, of course.

Leonard turned to Spock. "Stay with Jim."

He took off for the turbolift again, throwing his senses forward as much as he could and glad that he'd put the effort into learning how the ship's systems actually worked, while at the center of his rising fear was Scotty. Scotty afraid. Scotty frantically running options through his head, considering possibilities and finding none to hand. Scotty with his eyes fixed not on the young woman holding him at phaser point, but at the ugly, wire covered box sitting directly on top of the dilithium access port.

Leonard cut through his friend's circling panic. _I'm on my way. What's happening down there?_ Into the turbolift, "Engineering!" and, "Emergency speed!" shouted too loud in the small space and he would get there in time, let him get there in time because that woman had murder in her soul screaming so loud he wondered that Spock couldn't sense it all the way up in Pike's quarters.

The barriers Scott had put up at Leonard's insistence flickered out and the Engineer pushed forward the salient information. Lenore having strolled into engineering with a flirtatious smile on her face and a flowered bag under one arm, casually setting the bag down on the console, right on top of the dilithium access port, then so casually pulling out a phaser and shooting Izkar and Warnecki and training the phaser on him, set to kill.

The deaths of Izkar and Warnecki bit into Scotty's heart worst of all, along with the desperate hope that, if he could just get there fast enough, Leonard might be able to revive them. Leonard leaped out of the turbolift fast enough to bang his shoulder on the still-opening door and barreled down the passageway to skid to a stop at the door to Engineering, which was closed and locked. Luna stood outside it. She opened her mouth to speak, but he was a step ahead. "Open, medical override, authorization McCoy C48."

At the last moment, he damped the sound of the opening door and slowed his steps so that he entered nearly silently. Luna waited just outside the door, quietly describing the scene into her comlink. Lenore perched on the Engineering console, her feet dangling over the bodies of the men she'd killed. Her smile was no longer sweet and flirtatious, but as wide and wild as her eyes. She focused on Leonard in annoyed puzzlement. "I asked for Lieutenant Riley. You're not Lieutenant Riley."

"What do you want him for?" Leonard challenged.

"I need to be sure."

"Sure of what?"

She spoke as though he were a small child. "That he's gone. He shouldn't have lived. He shouldn't be here to mock my father's sacrifice."

There were presences behind him, Luna and someone unfamiliar, one of the players. A sad and frightened presence, but hard. Determined. Leonard stepped aside to let him pass, intending to knock him out if he proved a threat. The man stepped forward, his travel clothes making him look small and old. An ordinary man, aging and bent with regret. "Lenore," he said. "What is the meaning of this?"

She stared, shocked. "Father! You shouldn't be here. It's not safe for you!"

"You set that device off there it won't matter where in the ship your people are," Scotty said.

She stroked the trigger on the phaser. "Then bring me Riley. I want to see him. He's the last one. When he's gone we'll be truly free."

"What do you mean, child?" the man said.

She startled and turned toward him as though she had not expected him to be there. "Father, you should not be here.”

He stood in the middle of the room, his eyes now fixed on the dead men at the girl’s feet. “Lenore, what is all this? What are you doing?” 

“There were such lies about you. Such awful lies they told. There were nine of them, and now, now there is only one left."

"Nine?" He moved toward her. "Daughter, what have you done?"

"I have wiped the slate clean. One more and the past will now longer shadow us." She swung around to point the phaser at the bomb. Leonard shifted his focus into the device, trying to figure out how it operated and whether he could stop it without setting it off. "Get me Kevin Riley now!"

The old man, it had to be Karidian, dashed toward Lenore. At the same moment, Scotty threw himself at the device on the console. Leonard gave the device a hard shove upward, away from the dilithium chamber, while diving for Scotty and flinging up the more physical version of his shield. The phaser discharged, missing the device and Scotty and catching Leonard in the shoulder.

Leonard, hit with the same charge that killed the other two officers, dropped to the ground, while Karidian snatched the phaser from Lenore's hands and slid it across the floor. The two of them collapsed to the ground. Scotty crawled over to Leonard where he lay, unable to move for the moment, and pulled him up into his arms. "Ye dinna have to do that, Len." His voice was strained. Scotty's icy hands felt for a pulse and apparently didn't find one, because his grip tightened on the doctor and he buried his face in Leonard's uniform tunic. If Leonard could speak, he’d chastise the man for forgetting how to take a pulse.

Behind them, four security officers collected Karidian and Lenore and walked them out of the room, then a couple of others set up a perimeter around the explosive device. Leonard concentrated on getting his own blood pressure back up and finally managed a harsh, gasping breath. 

"You're alive!" Scotty said, breathless with relief, and planted a sloppy kiss on his forehead, and _what the hell was that?_

*

Spock had attempted in vain to hold onto Jim's writhing body as the counteragent took effect. Chris found himself standing beside the biobed, having apparently teleported there from the couch. Kevin Riley trembled beside him with fear or rage or more likely some of both. He put an arm around the young Lieutenant without thinking, remembering the fragile wisp of a child he'd taken from a then fourteen-year-old JT Kirk's arms.

Spock crawled onto the biobed to hold Jim to his chest, cradling the straining body and murmuring into his ear. A few minutes into their vigil, the lights in the room seemed to flicker. Chris was plunged abruptly back into darkness and numbing cold. Panic threatened to overwhelm him. He concentrated on the one sense he had remaining to him, focusing on the sound of the warp engines and the life support system cycling air through his quarters. He wished someone would speak. A voice would be something to hold on to in this frozen emptiness. Why had the doctor abandoned him? Had he died? 

He had no way of estimating how long he had been trapped back in his body before the illusion reasserted itself. He found himself back on the couch in sight of the biobed. 

"Lieutenant Riley," Spock said, "Please help Captain Pike to stand."

"Yes, sir." Riley put an arm around Chris's illusory body and helped him get to his feet. 

"How is he, Spock?" Chris asked.

"The spasms are becoming less intense. I am able to control his pain somewhat at this time." 

"Good." There was a tenderness in the way he cradled the captain that caused a twist of unearned jealousy in Chris's chest. He'd lost track of James Kirk after Tarsus IV. The boy who had become the man probably didn't even remember him, unlike little Kevin, who had been adopted by close friends of his on Earth who had encouraged them to correspond. Little Kevin wasn't so little anymore.

Jim's rigidity subsided enough that he could speak. "It was the girl. Lenore."

"So I surmised," Spock told him.

"Poisoned, just like Tom." He swallowed, the action sending a fresh set of muscle cramps through his jaw and down into his neck and shoulders.

"Was it Kodos?" Riley asked.

Spock answered for the captain. "It was not Kodos himself, but his daughter. It is likely she used a microinjector while distracting him with some other overwhelming sensory stimulus. She told him she was running to get help and left him lying on the deck."

Riley felt rage rise up inside him, heat flashing to his hands and feet and face and he could not obtain his body in the space. He bolted for the door. Chris dashed after him and held him. "No, son. Don't throw away your life for the likes of him. He's not worth it."

"He murdered my father. And my mother." Kevin buried his face in Chris's shoulder. "We were playing under the stage, us kids, you know? JT wouldn't let me run to them when the shooting started."

"And I'm not going to let you run off to do something you'll live to regret now."

The comm to the room chirped, then McCoy's voice said, "Spock, as soon as Jim is stable I need you to bring Kevin Riley to the brig to identify Karidian."

"Understood, Doctor," Spock said. He waited a few more minutes, until Jim was able to lie flat on the biobed, then for a moment he stood between them, looking even more contemplative than usual. He bent down, slow and deliberate, to run two fingers in an unmistakable gesture from the inside of Jim's wrist, across his palm and down to his fingertips, then curved his body over Jim's to press a kiss to his lips. 

With equal purpose, he stepped so close to Chris that their body heat mingled and their faces were so close Chris could feel Spock's breath on his lips. The kiss he pressed to Chris's lips was light and chaste, leaving Chris the option of stepping away if he chose. "I will return," he said. He turned to the wide-eyed and open-mouthed Kevin. "Shall we, Lieutenant?"

"Right, yes, of course, Commander," Riley stammered. He followed Spock out the door, leaving Chris alone with Jim.

For a while, Chris couldn't do much of anything. Today was the first time he'd been able to make his illusory body do anything at all without help, and it only seemed to happen when he was moved by sudden emotion, not when he had time to think it through. He was getting in his own way.

Jim spoke, drawing him out of his mental paralysis. "What was that?"

"I think it was an offer. Or a request." He couldn't help but look over at his own body propped in its life-sustaining prison. "Maybe both."

"You know it's not pity. He loves you," Jim said.

"And you," Chris said.

"Yeah. Can you come over here?"

"I don't know." He stopped to think. "Make it an order."

"I don't outrank you."

"Please."

"Come here," Jim said more firmly. Chris's imaginary legs obeyed him, finally. He took three awkward steps to stand beside Jim, who raised a hand for him to clasp. It was warm and sweaty from exertion. "You feel real."

"Not to me. I saw that," he nodded toward the support chair, "as an ending. I never took the time to think about after, except to dread it."

"You'll have Spock and Bones to help you through it," Jim assured him. "And you'll have me. We're a package deal, all four of us now."

"You're not jealous?"

"I'm working on it." Jim sat up on the biobed, muscles visibly trembling. He slid off the bed, catching himself on the edge of Chris's support chair, looked into Chris's eyes, then turned to look at Chris's real body in the chair.

“I disgust you,” Chris guessed.

“Not at all. I’ll prove it,” Jim said. He leaned forward and carefully, deliberately pressed a kiss to the body’s half-open mouth.

Chris’s brain wasn’t up to figuring out what Jim had meant by that. Was it just to prove a point? Was he flirting? The kid had a history of offering his sexuality as a means to an end, and Chris didn’t want Jim to think he had to buy his relationship with Spock by feigning one with Chris.

And when did he start referring to thirtysomething-year-old men as kids? He chuckled to himself. “Sit down and talk to me for a while. I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to.”

*

Kodos was not, as Kevin had expected, behind a forcefield in the brig. Instead, he stood with his forehead braced on his arm just outside one of the cells, his entire body in an attitude of despair. If he thought he was going to get any sympathy from Kevin by playacting the defeated old man, he had another think coming.

Kevin's stride lengthened and his arm rose almost on its own, the fingers curling into a fist. Strong arms wrapped around him from behind, one hand reaching up to capture his fist and hold it in place. "Lieutenant Riley, stand down," the firm, calm voice in his ear said. 

He fought Commander Spock for a couple of seconds before sagging backward into his arms. The Commander let him down carefully, his legs collapsing beneath him so he sat on the floor. "It's him," Kevin choked out. "That's Kodos."

He half expected Spock to ask him if he was sure and was grateful when he did not. Inside the cell was a young woman, not much more than a girl, really, with blonde hair framing a face that was bright red and puffy. She knelt on the floor of the cell, her arms held up in front of her as though she wanted to reach through the forcefield to clutch at Kodos' coat. "But you see?” she said, “they were selfish. They should not be here! Look, there's the last one! We could be rid of them and then your hands would be clean!"

"You have destroyed it all," Kodos shouted at her. "You were the one good thing left to me. The one thing untouched by what I had done. And now--you have not cleansed me. You have drenched my hands in still more blood."

Commander Spock's hands were still bracketing his shoulders. From behind him, he heard, "Security, apprehend the man who calls himself Anton Karidian on suspicion of having committed genocide on Tarsus IV."

"Are you sure?" Giotto said.

"Lieutenant Riley's witness is reliable." Mercifully, he didn't elaborate on how he'd verified Kevin's memory of the events. 

"If you say so, Commander," Giotto replied and gestured two other security officers over, one to open the cell next to the young woman's, the other to help Giotto guide the aging mass murderer into his cell.

Kodos muttered as the force field was raised, "Is seeing me imprisoned balm to your soul, young man?"

Kevin shook off Spock's hands and lurched to his feet. "There is no balm for my soul, Kodos," he hissed. "You murdered them. Your men turned phasers on my parents, my friends, my neighbors."

"I did what was necessary," he insisted.

"I hope you rot in hell." Kevin could no longer look at him. He stumbled backward, to be caught again by the commander. "I'm all right. I want to go to my quarters."

"You should not be alone at this time."

"No one else will understand. No one except JT. I mean, Captain Kirk."

"Then logic demands that we return to his present location."

*

Leonard hadn't found himself on the wrong end of Geoff M'Benga's fussing until today. "I told you, I'm fine. I deflected the worst of the phaser charge. It's hardly a graze."

M'Benga just crossed his arms and gave him the eyebrow. Good Lord, it was contagious. Scotty fidgeted behind the doctor, so agitated he might as well have been throwing sparks. After an appraising silence, M'Benga said, "You're better off recovering in your quarters. But you wear a biomonitor--and you let it do its job without messing with it. And you have someone with you for the next six hours."

It was the best deal he was going to get from the man. "Fine."

M'Benga turned to Scotty. “If I don't keep you tied up you'll just go back to Engineering and mess up all the regen on that knee. Keep McCoy in his quarters and don't let him try to work for six hours. And Len, you keep Scott from reinjuring that knee."

"Engineering's a right mess and my people need me," Scotty grumbled, but he settled into step beside Leonard as they left Sickbay.

"You want help writing letters for Izkar and Warnecki's families?"

Scott sighed. "I don't think I can face the job without a drink of some kind."

Leonard tugged him into a one-armed embrace. "Well then, it's a good thing I've got some excellent bourbon in my quarters. We'll pour out a libation to their memory."

"I'd appreciate that. And don't think I don't know you could have died, taking that phaser hit for me."

"I had a better shot at surviving it than you did."

"And I'm sure you calculated those odds before you shoved me out of the way."

Leonard huffed out a breath, not quite in a laugh. "As a matter of fact, I did."

"Don't tell me. I don't want to know."

They walked in silence, more or less, until they reached Leonard's quarters. "Len, I know he's a patient, and it's confidential and all, but how is Captain Pike, really?"

Leonard shrugged. The door to his quarters slid open. "Bourbon's in the cabinet." He dropped onto the couch, leaving room for Scotty to sit beside him. He took a moment to center his attention on Pike's quarters across the hall. Jim was still there, groggy but recovering--he ought to check on him in person as soon as he was allowed, or sooner. Pike was sharper than he had been, more reliably awake and engaged in conversation with Jim and Riley. He returned his attention to his own body in his own space. "He's doing better. I think he's going to be fine, given time."

"Fine, as our friend Mr. Spock likes to say, has a multitude of definitions."

"I think he'll find a life worth living,” McCoy told him.

"Now that I'll drink to."

Len raised his glass. "To a life worth living."

"And friends you can live with," Scotty finished, downing the bourbon in one gulp. "Now that's a good burn. I ought to take my time with the next one."

"That you should. Bourbon like this should be savored." He watched the low light in his quarters shine on the surface of the caramel colored liquid. "So. You kissed me. That some kind of Scottish thing?"

Scott leaned back into the couch cushions. "If ye don't mind, I'd like to make today about Izkar and Warnecki. They deserve as much. We can talk about anything else that might or might not be a Scottish thing tomorrow."

Leonard took a swallow of his drink, just enough to get the full effect of its smoky, complex flavor. "If you don't mind, I'll hold you to that."

**Author's Note:**

> So--clearly this isn't over yet. 
> 
> The adaptive devices available to Pike are unrealistically abysmal in canon; hence my adding a few additional neurological issues to explain why he can't use something more effective--I expect that as this series continues (slooooooooowly) Pike will become more able to function, though I have no intention of him getting up and walking.


End file.
